Page 26 of Scourge of the Shores

The Return Journey

Dawn sunlight filtered through the walls, and the after-rain lay thick in the air. Danna breathed it in and listened to the murmurs below. The crew was up. Despite the hard wooden planks, she felt more rested than she had in a long time.

She froze at the movement against her spine and realized she had turned her back in the night.

She peered over her shoulder. He’d turned his back as well.

Her body tensed, but something was calming about his quiet, sleeping presence.

She nestled her head back into the crook of her arm and closed her eyes.

He didn’t need to know the effect he had on her, though she’d already slipped up twice the night before: saying his name and telling him she preferred at least one of his personas.

Last night, he had been the man who stitched her up, saved her, ate with her, walked with her on the shore—the one who made her laugh, who spoke to her in hushed tones, spinning stories of his past. Those times, they had been truly alone.

But every other moment, the crew had been there—watching, listening.

Maybe he had to be that way to survive, as he said.

But when it was just the two of them, he was the man she couldn’t escape, didn’t want to put aside.

He shifted, turning, his rhythmic breathing a whisper against her ear. His arm flopped across her blanket-covered waist. She was tempted to hit him off her, but lying in his sleeping arms, though by accident, made her breath hitch. She could feign sleep still held her, just a little longer.

Her body relaxed into him, though she told herself he’d leave anyway. He wouldn’t stay. She reminded herself that Lucas’s prophecy had said Robert Jaymes was never meant to stay, never meant to be with her. And she believed it. She had to.

“Danna.”

His whisper brushed her ear, low and quiet. He hadn’t moved, hadn’t stirred, hadn’t done anything to suggest he was awake. So he must’ve been dreaming. Saying her name in his sleep.

Maybe he wouldn’t sail away.

But he was a pirate, a young pirate, with a whole legacy left to live. He wouldn’t give it up for her. But he had been right about one thing.

The sea called her.

She wanted a life in its watery embrace. But she couldn’t leave the island. She couldn’t leave Ma, not in her current state.

The thought sealed her decision. She’d get mad at him for intruding on her space and force him away from her. It was the only way. It was the easiest thing to do. Push him away. Let him leave.

She rolled into his chest to wake him, but he didn’t move. His breathing stayed too even, too measured now that she was aware of it. Was he pretending to sleep as well? Slowly, warily, she glanced over her shoulder.

His eyes were already on her.

A soft smile curved his lips. His hand—too easily—rested on her belly, like it had always belonged there.

“Good mornin’,” he whispered, almost inaudible. The storm in his eyes settled into clear skies the longer she stayed still.

“How long ye been awake?” she asked. Her mind raced. Had he felt her relax into him? Did he know she let him drape his arm across her body?

“Long enough,” he murmured, his fingers brushing her waist.

“What does that mean?” she said, hating her decision not to push him off her just yet.

“It means,” he murmured, pulling her waist closer. “I know that you know this feels right—to both of us.”

“It don’t feel right,” she lied.

His hand slid from her waist to her neck in a slow crawl. She let him do it. His touch sparked a fire she couldn’t contain. She held her breath as his thumb rubbed the fatty flesh of her bottom lip from one side to the other.

“Aye, it does,” he murmured, leaning close. His breath heated her lips as if taunting her desires with freedom. “Because if it didn’t . . . you would’ve gutted me by now.”

She froze at the truth he spoke. Now was her moment to push him away.

To put distance between them before it became impossible.

She shoved him hard in the chest, ignoring the warmth still clinging to her skin.

“Ye need to learn boundaries, pirate,” she muttered in a cracked whisper, rolling away—like she could shake off whatever just passed between them.

“Ye didn’t seem to mind a few moments ago.” He grinned with a stretch. His eyes told her he now had proof of something he had only suspected.

She huffed. “I’m just cold, tired; exhaustion—let me guard down. Fool’s mistake—one I won’t be repeatin’,” she bit quickly and slid to the ladder without further thought. She couldn’t think. Didn’t want to. She tried to tame the tremor in her fingers as she gripped the ladder’s sides.

Her legs moved fast as she crawled down the rungs.

When her boots finally hit the barn floor, she spun around.

The crew wasn’t there, so she tucked in her shirt.

If anyone saw her crawl out of the rafters looking like she’d barely wrestled herself free, there’d be whispers.

The wrong kind. Ones that meant nothing to Robert but could mean everything to her place as Captain.

Would his men even care? Or would they see it as Robert winning another prize?

No, not Robert.

Jaymes. Jaymes. Jaymes.

A shaky breath blew past her lips. She went to grab her hat but realized she’d left it up top. Her hands clenched.

“Stupid lass,” she muttered under her breath.

“Look out below.” Robert’s voice carried as he slid down the ladder, landing with a thick, solid thud.

It was an impressive feat, probably one he learned on his ship. But still, a lump grew in her throat. He’d make her ask for her hat if he’d brought it down. Or worse—he wouldn’t, and she’d have to climb back up herself, knowing he’d watch.

He turned to face her and took a half-step too close. His spiced rum and hard rain scent almost captured her sanity.

“You left this,” he whispered and held out her hat.

“Ye gonna trade for it?” she asked, peering up at him.

“It’s yer hat,” he said.

She stared at him for too long. Too long to be smart, too long to be safe, and too long to keep from falling.

His eyes were waves, pulling her in, and she needed to cut herself free before she drowned.

He’d leave. He’d leave her in a heartbeat.

She meant nothing to him. But he said it felt right.

It did. He lied. He’s a liar. But maybe not.

Yet she couldn’t go with him. She wasn’t going to let herself give in. Her breath hitched.

“Danna, I?—”

“Thank ye for bringing it down.” She cut him off and swiped the hat out of his hand. “Now, assess the ship. See if she’s ready to sail.” Her gaze shot to the barn door; her voice betrayed her with a catch in her throat.

His weight shifted. “Ain’t never met anyone like you, Danna.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze, her body tensing but not moving. Never had she met anyone like him, either.

He leaned in but didn’t close the space completely—leaving her enough room to run if she wanted to.

“I ain’t tellin’ no lies and playin’ no games,” he whispered, his breath tingling her ear. “And ye know it too.”

She bit her lip hard enough to keep the words from spilling out. If she let even one go, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to stop the rest. It would be easy to let him stay close. To lean into the warmth of him instead of the cold of the world. But she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

She yanked her hat onto her head and walked out fast before she did or said something she couldn’t take back. She fled, because if she didn’t, she wasn’t sure she’d be able to leave at all.

The sunshine was too bright, the air too clean, and the sea too perfect.

The journey ahead would be smooth, and she prayed it would pass quickly.

She half-expected him to follow, to call her name like he had in his pretend sleep.

But when she glanced back, he was still there, watching, waiting, letting her walk away.

* * *

The sea stretched endlessly before them, but no matter how far they sailed, Danna couldn't outrun the ghost of his touch. The storm inside her raged, untamed, with no horizon wide enough to escape it.

Robert worked without his Captain’s coat and hat, moving like any other deckhand. She had expected him to push, demand an answer, and force her to admit something she wasn’t ready to say. Instead, he had done the one thing she hadn’t prepared for—he let her go.

Robert went about his duties as if the sea were the only thing keeping him breathing.

Like it was all he had left. He didn’t linger, didn’t challenge her, didn’t so much as glance her way unless duty required it.

He said, “Aye, Captain,” when spoken to, was up when he was supposed to be up, and slept when he needed to sleep.

It was what she wanted and asked of him when he first came aboard. It should’ve been a relief. But instead, it suffocated her.

Lucas had told her Robert liked her but wouldn’t take orders from her, yet there he was, jumping at her every command and executing with perfection, even after she’d walked away from him.

He’d handed his power to her, but as what she didn’t know.

A gift? A truce? A trick? Out of love or lust? A game, a lie? None of those things?

Her bottom lip still quivered from the searing touch of his thumb, though the chilled sea breeze soothed the burn.

Out of everything, there was one thing she could not allow herself to believe, though its truth pummeled against the weakening walls of her heart: how right she felt in his arms, how much she wanted his lips against hers, and how no other man could ever do what he’d done to her.

He’d gotten into her head, and worse, she feared he belonged there.

The deck swayed beneath her feet; the wind curled over the sails. By the tiller, Scotty tied off a cleat while she watched Robert handle the mainsail.

“Captain,” Scotty whispered, low enough that only she could hear. His gaze flicked toward Robert, then back to her. "Ain’t me place to ask . . ." He hesitated, gripping the rope tighter. "But somethin’ happened in the barn, didn’t it?"

She gripped the tiller tighter but didn’t turn. “Ye’re right. It ain’t yer place.”

But Scotty didn’t budge. “Ethan and I’ll handle it. Him. All of ‘em, if need be. We can run this sloop with just the three of us.”

Her fingers dug into the tiller, knuckles white. Her eyes fixated on the horizon line. “Nothin’ happened. And if it did, Jaymes now knows his place on me ship.”

She glanced at Scotty to find his stony glare, hoping that was the end of it.

But she knew it wasn’t.

By dawn, the cliffs of her ancestor’s island rose from the mist like ghosts from the deep.

The sight should’ve brought relief. Should’ve made her feel at home again.

But her chest was tight, knowing that in three to four months, the pirates would be gone.

Cain would return. And everything would go back to how it was, and yet not.

Her eyes drifted to Robert’s frame as he and Thane furled the mainsail as the sloop drifted into port.

He froze, eyes locking onto hers as if he’d felt her gaze.

She should have looked away. She should’ve turned, broken the moment before it could mean anything.

But she didn’t. And neither did he. It was as if they both knew their time on the sea was ending, likely forever.

She’d never be on his ship, and he’d have no more reason to be on hers.

They docked at her ancestor’s island, and the villagers came to unload the ship.

Robert approached her as the barrels were rolled out of the cargo hold. He slipped his Captain’s coat on.

“I’ll be around,” Robert said as Otto walked past them, his voice steady. “At least until I make sure the pirates get their fair share.”

“I told ye I ain’t no cheat,” she bit.

His chin dipped, gaze sharp—wordless proof he’d never believed she was a cheat.

Her lips spread thin, realizing he had told her the truth a few days earlier.

“Sly, ain’t ye?” she whispered.

He hesitated, eyes flicking toward the South Sea before settling back on her. “After that . . . I suppose I’ll—I’ll only be around if there’s trouble.” His eyes searched her face. “Per your rules.”

Danna gave a curt nod. "Aye," she said, though the word felt like stone in her throat. She cleared it quickly, forcing her gaze to the South Sea instead of him. "So it’s settled." Her voice was steady, but the foundation beneath it was sand, shifting with every wave.

Robert stood on the deck as if waiting for her to look at him one last time until Thane shouted, “Ye comin’, Captain?”

“Aye, I’m comin’,” he yelled back. He slid his hat on his head, taking one more lasting gaze at Danna. “Be seein’ ye, Danna,” he whispered. His voice was quiet but sure, like a promise he knew she wouldn’t believe.

She blinked back tears, but said nothing.

His presence left her. She walked to the gunwale opposite the gangplank and leaned her elbows on it.

The waves broke her reflection, tore it to pieces, just like her desires: Cain, Ma, Robert, Lucas, and the sea were all in her life, and she wanted to be in theirs.

She wanted to slay Cain, heal Ma, love Robert, honor Lucas, and live on the sea—but she couldn’t have it all.

Her fingernails dug into her scalp beneath her hat.

Some people got nothing. Maybe she’d get one thing.

But which would it be? And at what price would it come?